


Take A Bow

by cathrheas



Series: Commissions [23]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Self-Esteem Issues, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Wedding Night, the ao3 tag is "female ejaculation" but i hate that.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24767221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: Dorothea always imagined a wedding to be like the opera.(In which Dorothea learns that with someone like Petra, it just might be okay to be herself—whoever she is.)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Series: Commissions [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753813
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	Take A Bow

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for Parunize! Feel free to check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/cathrheas)!

Dorothea always imagined a wedding to be like the opera. Although she was a performer at heart, she was no stranger to the “behind-the-scenes” aspects of the opera, like stage-building, sales, props—it was a somewhat grueling task, but it became worth it as the full product came closer to completion. That was how she thought of wedding planning, at first. And then there was the crowd control, the sweet interaction that kept people coming back. She’d smile and thank people for complimenting her after the show was over, just like she would eventually smile and thank people for their gifts at her wedding. Smile, sing sweetly, bat her eyelashes—just another performance.

And then Dorothea met Petra, and a wedding became a different thing in her imagination. Instead of a performance, it was an _experience._ Dorothea loved the opera, of course, but she didn’t want to be an actress in her own wedding. In her mind, getting married to some rich fellow would have made it so, but that wasn’t what happened. Petra came along, and mixed up whatever preconceptions Dorothea might have had about a wedding. It was less about the performance and pleasing the crowd, and more about making memories. 

The best part of the opera.

Everything was wonderful. The preparations were less of a chore and more of a delight, an opportunity for them to bond. Sure, Petra had a few...less-than-savory ideas about design, but it was fun to dream up a wedding all the same. Dorothea usually felt pretty okay, despite the adversities she was facing: moving to a foreign country, not knowing the language, having to make herself presentable in front of Brigid’s noble class. It was just like her fantasies, wasn’t it? Marrying up, being taken care of...if anything, it was _better_ than her fantasies. She’d never expected to be so in love with whoever she married, but Petra had blown her out of the water.

It was honestly like a reversal of their academy days, where Dorothea was always doing her best to make sure Petra was comfortable in her new temporary home. Years later, it was Petra who was checking up on Dorothea, whispering to her in Fodlan’s language—and, after a few weeks for Dorothea to adjust, sometimes in Brigid’s—to ask her if she was feeling okay. 

_Are you alright? Do you need anything? If you’re homesick..._

Dorothea’s worries lessened and lessened. By the time the wedding rolled around, Petra didn’t need to check up on her so often, although she tended to do so anyway. Dorothea was alright, she didn’t need anything but Petra, and she wasn’t all that homesick. She was focused on planning the wedding, “setting the stage” for their not-opera.

Just for her to feel like she was performing, anyway.

When the wedding came, she found herself slipping back into old habits. _Hold that smile, nod, wave your hand, laugh a little, but not too loud—be_ pretty, _now, Dorothea, or else someone might think ill of you._ There were plenty of partygoers, some from Fodlan and some from Brigid, some she knew and some she didn’t. A lot of their old classmates had shown up, but so had the entire ruling class of Brigid. Dorothea had been thrust into a few soirees with Brigidian nobility, and she had grown used to sucking up properly, just like she had to when she was a songstress.

_Then why is this so difficult?_ Her and Petra were attached at the hip all day, as soon as the ceremony was complete, so she never had a chance to let her guard down. She didn’t _want_ her smile to be fake, she didn’t want to force every laugh that came out of her lips, but it was hard to force herself to be genuine when Petra was standing close to her, the beacon of social perfection. It was easier to fall back into what she knew to keep herself safe.

Petra always wore her crown with a heavy head. Dorothea knew that. And yet, watching Petra laugh with their peers so coolly before turning to diplomats and talking politics with ease...she had truly grown into her role as queen. Dorothea, meanwhile, was just trying to make it through the night without anybody realizing how out of place she was. 

“...Right, Dorothea?”

Damn it. She’d been so busy in her own head that she hadn’t even been keeping track of the conversation. Petra was looking at her—seeking agreement, perhaps? At the very least, they were speaking to someone Dorothea knew well. Even better, it was Caspar. Someone who didn’t quite have the attentiveness to notice how off Dorothea was acting. “Right,” Dorothea agreed, smiling.

“Wow, Dorothea,” Caspar said, scoffing. “You’ve been in Brigid for, what, a year, and you’ve already ditched Fodlan?”

Ah, is that what they were talking about? Dorothea recalled Caspar asking about Brigid’s weather, earlier. Was it something about that? “If she were ‘ditching’, then you would not have been invited to our wedding, Caspar. None of our friends from Fodlan would have been.”

Dorothea couldn’t quite tell if Petra was joking or not, but she laughed a bit anyway. At least _that_ laugh was genuine. “Yeah, I’m happy you didn’t forget us completely, yet, Dorothea. Besides, Petra, you’re just as much a part of Fodlan as Dorothea is! Er, was. So, you better not ditch us, either.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it, Caspar,” Dorothea said. Good, good. She was focusing again. She kept reminding herself, again and again, _play your part. Don’t embarrass Petra._ And then she’d look over at Petra, chin high and eyes bright, and her mind would start drifting away again...

“My love, are you feeling warm?” Petra’s voice was a bit low, her words spoken only for Dorothea to hear. While Dorothea wasn’t paying attention, Caspar had turned to another partygoer, speaking to him in sloppy Brigidian. Petra’s eyes were only on her. Moments like that made the night worth it, but... “If you would like, we can step away from the festivities. We have been making a lot of conversation tonight.”

“I don’t mind conversation,” Dorothea said. She didn’t want Petra to think her incapable...

“Yes, but...well, I am feeling rather hot.” Petra seemed determined to pull away from the crowd. “Come with me. It will be cooler indoors.”

The majority of the reception took place outdoors, although the ceremony itself had taken place in an ancient building right off of the coast. There were fewer partygoers on the inside, most of them basking in the setting evening sun. But there were a handful of people seeking refuge from the heat, greeting Petra and Dorothea as they passed. Despite the relaxed atmosphere of the wedding, Petra was moving at a brisk pace—people didn’t bother attempting to disrupt them.

They walked through the building, all the way to the back, coming to a brick alcove near the rear entrance. Once they were there, they unlinked arms for the first time in what felt like hours. Dorothea was about to make a joking remark about how they had been clinging to one another, but Petra spoke first. “Are you enjoying yourself, Dorothea?”

That question wouldn’t have been so troubling, had it not sounded the way it did. It sounded like Petra already knew the answer. Still, Dorothea simply responded, “Of course, my love.”

“Truly? Everything is alright?”

“Petra, I know you do it a lot, but you don’t have to check up on me,” Dorothea said—in Brigidian, to drive her point home.

However, Petra wouldn’t let it slide. She responded in Fodlanese. Maybe that was for the better. Dorothea was far from fluent in Brigidian, while Petra had nearly perfected Fodlan’s native tongue. “Something is different about you today. I just...I wanted to make sure you are not regretting, or having any doubts. And that if you are, you feel comfortable speaking to me about them.”

“Petra! How could you even say that? I would never doubt what we have,” Dorothea said. Of course, she had no right to be offended. Petra had plenty of reasons to interpret her behavior that way. 

“Even if you are not having doubts, you are not...hm...” Petra shut her eyes, thinking. Then, she finally said, “You are not being yourself. I thought you might have been a little nervous, but it has been happening all day. Perhaps I should not be confronting you about this, but...I am your wife. And I have a duty to you—to protect you, and care for you. Even if you are just a little nervous, and that is preventing you from acting how you usually do, I still must check in on you. That is what is right, to me.”

Of course, Petra was so honest with her ambitions, with her feelings. Dorothea never expected anything less from her. And, from the looks of it, Petra didn’t expect anything less from Dorothea, either. Their height difference was usually laughable, for Dorothea, but even though Petra was looking up at her from down low, Dorothea felt...small, almost. Petra wanted the truth from Dorothea, and that was it. If Dorothea had said again that nothing was wrong, Petra might have left her alone.

_I have a duty to you._

Gods. Dorothea couldn’t lie to her.

“I’ve been in my head a lot,” Dorothea admitted, softly. Petra took her hand as she spoke, nodding and urging Dorothea to continue. “Thinking about you. How amazing you are. How you came to Fodlan and stood on your own two feet, made everyone love you...then returned to Brigid and took the throne without a second thought.”

Petra shook her head. “Dorothea, these are all things that I’ve been raised to do, from the moment I was born—”

“No, it isn’t about that,” Dorothea interrupted. “It’s...it’s not about how either of us were born. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. The bottom line is, Petra, that I...feel like everything I do is fake. Even if I were to be the perfect wife for you, for the queen, it would only be a persona I created, wouldn’t it? And sometimes, I have to wonder if I’m even faking it well. I know these thoughts are silly, especially on our wedding day, but I can’t help feeling like I’m trying to be something I’m not. I don’t want it to be this way, but if I’m just myself, then...”

How could Dorothea explain it? She’d been playing roles her whole life. Onstage and off, she was never “Dorothea”. And when she was, she was punished for it. She thought that with Petra, she could finally escape from the tragic opera that was her life, and finally step into her _real_ life, where she didn’t have to try so hard. But she couldn’t stop.

“Dorothea, you don’t—”

“Queen Macneary?” A voice echoed through the alcove, belonging to neither Petra nor Dorothea. It sounded familiar, but Dorothea had met one too many people since moving to Brigid. She couldn’t remember them all, not when she was barely thinking straight.

Petra sighed a Brigidian curse under her breath. How rare. _They always say you see a different side of your spouse when you’re married,_ Dorothea thought, amusedly. “Ah. I apologize,” Petra said.

“For the interruption, or for the cursing?”

“...Both,” Petra said. They shared a brief laugh, but Petra’s face quickly fell back into a frown. “The reception will only last a bit longer. Once everyone is gone, and we can retire to our room, we can have our talk.”

“No, Petra, that’s not necessary. Really, it’s just a bit of newlywed jitters, I don’t want to ruin our first night as a couple—”

The voice called again, “Queen Macneary? Lady Dorothea?”

“You will not be ruining anything,” Petra insisted, lacing her arm in Dorothea’s. “It will be nothing more than a chat. We’ve chatted with one another plenty of times. Come. Let’s return before we begin to worry our guests. Stay close to me, and do not worry, okay?”

Ah, the authority in her voice. Dorothea had never had a doubt in her mind that Petra would make a wonderful queen, with strength like that, accented by a gentle tone.

_If only I could match up to her..._

* * *

The sun fell lower and lower, and the evening grew cooler. Dorothea didn’t want to admit to herself that she wanted the day to be over, but as guests started filtering out, she started to relax. She told herself that it was just because the stuffy diplomats were leaving, but even her friends from Fodlan were making her anxious. She tried her best to keep her head up, keep smiling, for Petra’s sake, but it was getting harder and harder as time went on. She couldn’t stop thinking about Petra, what they would speak about that night.

Her wedding was _not_ supposed to turn out like that.

Sure, she had made a few good memories—Brigid’s traditional wear for weddings turned out to look _excellent_ on Petra—but Dorothea felt guilty for possibly soiling Petra’s day, too. Petra seemed happy enough, at least. They’d lit a fire near the coast, drinking with friends until it got to be too late. Dorothea had hardly touched her glass; she had to keep up appearances, and she couldn’t let herself get too complacent.

Finally, even their closer friends were heading off to bed. Brigid was rather far, so many of them were staying in rooms at the palace. At the very least, the guest rooms were nowhere near the master bedroom. Dorothea had been relieved about that the day before because she figured her and Petra would be...consummating their marriage, but after that disaster of a day, she was mostly glad that they wouldn’t hear her crying. She was _definitely_ going to shed some tears that night...

  
  


Once they returned to their room, Petra let out a giant sigh, stretching. “What a day,” she said, in Brigidian. 

_You’re telling me,_ Dorothea thought. It was nice to hear Petra speak so casually, though; her Fodlanese tended to come across rather formal. Dorothea’s Brigidian did, too, so they often had conversations where they spoke their own language. Dorothea didn’t want to fumble her words by speaking Brigidian, anyway. Not in an important conversation like the one they were about to have. “I hope you had fun, sweetie.”

“Of course I did. I admit, though, I was worried towards the end. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you—not only because of your beauty, but because of your strange behavior.”

Ah. Petra was always blunt... “I’m sorry, Petra. I tried to be...I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Dorothea, for Pete’s sake, do_ not _cry._ Somehow, she kept the tears from welling in her eyes, even as Petra sat next to her. Petra had been wearing a lovely sash for the duration of the day, but she pulled it off, wrapping it around her and Dorothea’s shoulders. When she next spoke, she spoke in Fodlanese, gentle and familiar in Dorothea’s ears. “Why are you apologizing? It is my duty as a wife to protect you, Dorothea. Worrying about you is not a bad thing.”

“On our wedding day? There’s no way it’s a good thing, either.”

“It is. I do not enjoy seeing you sad, of course, but it brings me joy to care for you! I don’t think that is bad.” Dorothea chuckled at the little paradox in Petra’s statement, but she understood. “Tell me what you need from me, so that I can.”

“I...I honestly don’t know,” Dorothea admitted. Explaining the opera metaphor would have been too wordy. Worst-case scenario, it completely went over Petra’s head. Instead, she said, “I feel irresolvable. I don’t want to be...an actress anymore. I don’t want to pretend to be something that I’m not. But I feel like just being myself isn’t quite enough for you, Petra.”

“Dorothea, it is _more_ than enough!”

“No, please, listen. Just listen.” Dorothea snuggled closer to Petra, pulling the sash tighter around them. “I know it’s enough for _you,_ Petra. I know you love me. But you, who you are to everyone else—what am I to them, compared to you? Does this even make sense? Alright. I know it doesn’t. Let’s just—”

“Wait. It _does_ make sense. I understand you, I think.” What a bold statement, considering the fact that Dorothea hardly understood herself. “With me, you are ‘yourself’. But when you are in the public eye, ‘yourself’ is not enough, so you have to be someone else. And yet, being someone else does not make you happy. Is that it?”

Wow. How had Petra nailed down Dorothea’s entire psyche in the span of twenty seconds? “That sounds right,” Dorothea said. “Sometimes I think that I hate myself, but I don’t think that’s true. I hate the part of myself that _doesn’t_ want to be me. Yet, I’ve shown you every part of me, even the ones I don’t like, because I love you! I don’t want to be a faker, or a liar, or anything like that! I...I want to be who I am. All of the time. But—”

“There are no ‘but’s,” Petra interrupted. Then, she frowned. “I admit, there are others who will judge you. You are gorgeous, intelligent, and you speak your mind. You come from circumstances that should not have let you be succeeding, and yet you are. These are things that other people may find intimidating. But do not change yourself for anyone! In my presence, Dorothea, I want nothing more than to see who you truly are. That is all I ask of you. You do not have to temper your words or change your behavior. If anyone speaks wrongly to you, tell me, and I will correct them. I promise.”

Oh, Dorothea had told herself that she wouldn’t cry, but Petra didn’t exactly make that easy. She had uttered every word with promise, with dedication, and with confidence. Dorothea felt like she was falling in love all over again, looking at Petra’s slight smile and loving eyes.

“Petra,” Dorothea said. She brushed the back of her hand against her wife’s cheek, relishing the contact, however light. “Thank you. I love you, to the moon and back.”

“I love you, too, Dorothea. All of you. Every part.”

Had Petra meant for that to sound so seductive? Dorothea’s response was the same either way. “Really? Every part? Inside...and out?”

“Of course! Every...” Petra’s eyes went wide with realization, before she laughed breathlessly. It always took her a little while to notice how aggressively Dorothea was hitting on her, but when she did, she was always raring to go. “Yes, Dorothea. Every part, inside and out. If you are still in need of convincing, then let me show you.”

Petra kissed her, and Dorothea couldn’t help noticing how nice it was to not have to fake it. She wasn’t kissing Petra to show off for the diplomats, or their friends, or even for Petra; she was kissing Petra because it felt good, because they loved each other. When they were alone, it was so easier to be _herself._ Perhaps, one day, she could heed Petra’s words properly, and be herself all of the time.

But for the moment, she was satisfied with her little backstage paradise, wrapped in Petra’s arms. Dorothea wanted Petra to pull the sash in tighter, bring them closer together, but Petra slid it off of their shoulders, opting to pull down the straps of Dorothea’s wedding gown instead. It wasn’t a traditional white dress like she’d imagined, instead a colorful piece of woven fabric. Dorothea loved how it looked against her skin, and so did Petra, but she had no use for it considering what they were about to do.

Petra paused when Dorothea’s bra was exposed, letting the upper half of the dress pool around Dorothea’s waist. She kissed the peaks of Dorothea’s breasts, the parts that the bra didn’t quite cover, before unhooking the bra and letting it fall forward. “I love you here,” Petra said, kissing the valley between Dorothea’s breasts. Then, after a beat, she kissed Dorothea over her left breast, towards the center of her chest; right where her heart was beating. "I love you here."

"Show me where else," Dorothea said, undoing the intricate braids in Petra's hair. 

"In due time." Petra moved upwards ( _wrong direction,_ Dorothea thought) and kissed Dorothea's forehead. "I love you, here, too. A beautiful mind, though impatient."

"Very funny."

Petra smiled cheekily, then returned to her journey, pulling Dorothea's dress down her legs. She draped it neatly over the edge of the bed, smoothing out wrinkles she found. "Sit on the edge, here," Petra said, patting the foot of the bed. She moved to the floor, on her knees.

Oh, Dorothea liked where this was going.

She sat just as Petra wanted to, her butt on the bed and her legs hanging off of it. Petra stalled a bit more, kissing Dorothea's navel and hips, offering more affirmation as she went. Dorothea was warming up, calming down, wanting Petra more and more as time passed.

"Show me," Dorothea asked again, that time pleading. "Petra..."

"So long as you are with me, Dorothea, you will not be wanting for anything," Petra said. Funny, because Dorothea was wanting for a lot. Seconds later, though, Petra was finally rolling Dorothea's panties and stockings down her body. "If you need anything of me, ask for it. You're worthy of everything I have, and more."

"Then, _please,_ Petra, fuck me," Dorothea finally said. Is that what Petra wanted to hear? She would say it any day of the year. 

That was the right response. Petra spread Dorothea's legs, kissing the inside of her thighs in one last teasing gesture before finally appeasing Dorothea. Dorothea always appreciated how Petra could be forward and passionate, yet still gentle and loving. The moment her tongue got a taste of Dorothea, she was relentless, but making love on their wedding night couldn't have been anything short of romantic, and Petra made sure it was so. As her tongue opened the part in Dorothea's folds, her hands moved up and down the length of Dorothea’s thighs.

Petra lifted her head, and for a second, Dorothea thought that she would start teasing again. Instead, she said, in sultry Brigidian, “Put your legs over my shoulders.”

Dorothea did as she was told, which made her notice how unsteady she was; her legs were shaking already. Petra looked almost overjoyed with her head buried between Dorothea’s legs. Dorothea could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile when Petra went back to going down on her. 

Even though the moments of teasing had been relatively short, Dorothea’s body was on edge, and she couldn’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escaped her when she felt Petra’s tongue flicking across her clit. Petra loved it when Dorothea was vocal, but Dorothea...not so much. Still, it was hard to control herself when Petra seemed to be purposefully drawing those sounds out of her. Again, she was eternally grateful that their guests were elsewhere in the palace. As much as Petra said that Dorothea’s moans turned her on, Dorothea couldn’t help feeling ashamed of it. That was one thing Petra would have to try a little harder for her to accept.

It was liberating, though, to be letting loose in the comfort of their bedroom instead of showing off for nobles. Part of Dorothea didn’t _want_ to hold back her indecent sounds. Without Petra to coax approval from her (since her mouth was rather occupied), Dorothea had to find other ways to show her appreciation. Mere moments after Dorothea first started crying out, Petra pressed a finger inside of her. Dorothea was already wet from her own honey and Petra’s saliva, so it went in easily, but she didn’t need to be stretched. Petra’s skin against her, _inside_ of her, was more than enough to make her whine.

Petra was an excellent multi-tasker. She easily pumped her finger in and out of Dorothea while still lavishing attention on her bud with her mouth, not stopping for one moment. She was panting a bit, Dorothea could feel it. When Petra tilted her head just so, Dorothea could see her slick on Petra’s chin, a sign of her efforts.

“You’re amazing, Petra,” Dorothea groaned. Petra had bashfully admitted once that it turned her on to hear Dorothea calling out praises for her in Brigidian, so Dorothea did so whenever she could. Petra doubled her efforts, adding another finger to the first and wrapping her lips around Dorothea’s clit. “ _Ah,_ love, just like that. Oh...”

Petra’s breath hitched, and there was a brief lull in her rhythm as her hand found its way to her own cunt. Oh, how Dorothea wanted to touch Petra, to reciprocate the love she was receiving...but Petra’s focus was still on her, even as she was touching herself. Her fingers curled in a practiced motion, finding Dorothea’s g-spot and pressing against it every time her fingers moved in. 

Dorothea was getting louder, more pitchy. If her love life was an opera, she was the singer in the spotlight, hitting the highest notes with such little effort. Petra was music to her ears, to her whole body, spurring her on. Those sharp breaths from Petra were getting more and more frequent as her efforts got more vigorous on both ends. Dorothea swept Petra’s hair away from her eyes, careful not to smear the markings beneath them as she caressed Petra’s face. Her hand moved to the back of Petra’s head as her toes curled, pulling her in.

“Goddess, Petra.” Dorothea’s Brigidian was already clumsy, but it was even worse when she was hardly capable of thinking. “Just a little more, I’m...” Dorothea shuddered into a sigh, which flipped to a moan. 

Petra was the only person who knew Dorothea’s body so well, even better than Dorothea herself did, and it was almost troublesome. Petra kept sucking her clit, laying the flat of her tongue against it, stimulating Dorothea’s g-spot all the while. It didn’t help that Petra was so _easy_ —she had only been touching herself for a few minutes, but she was already going slack against her own hand, rolling her hips into it.

_I’m cumming, I’m cumming,_ Dorothea wanted to say, but she was speechless as her climax crept up on her. She tried to hold herself back, but Petra would never let her. No matter how hard she tried to stave off the loose feeling in her abdomen, the blooming swell of pressure, she couldn’t. Petra’s fingers at her sweet spot, pressing and pressing, forced Dorothea to let herself go. Dorothea’s legs tensed, released, then tensed again when she came on Petra’s face, whining long and high as spurts of her juices hit Petra’s fingers.

Dorothea found her voice as her body started to relax, but even then, she could only manage to whisper, “Petra...”

Petra’s mouth left Dorothea’s clit, but her lips were so close that they brushed against it as she spoke. “You are...so, _so_ lovely, Dorothea.”

Petra’s voice was fairly steady as she spoke, but she finished soon after Dorothea, her cheek resting atop Dorothea’s knee as she did so. Dorothea stroked Petra’s head, as much as her tired body would allow her to. Petra held herself with pride and beauty even as she orgasmed, gyrating against her hand and kissing Dorothea’s skin as she did so. Dorothea had to close her eyes to fend off the moans that were threatening to rise in her, hearing Petra pant and watching her fuck against her own hand.

When she felt Petra settling down, she opened her eyes again, and saw Petra looking up at her with glee.

“I hope I brought you some comfort.”

“That’s the strangest opener for pillow talk that I’ve ever heard.”

“Hmm,” Petra said, furrowing her brow. “I meant that to be a remark for you, not our pillows...”

Ah, right. Dorothea hadn’t taught her that phrase. And if Dorothea had any say, nobody else would be teaching her about it, either. “Come up here, Petra. You brought me plenty of comfort, but I’d like some more.”

Dorothea left that open-ended. It could have meant round two, and it could have meant a cuddle. Petra climbed up to the bed, sitting next to Dorothea and pulling her into her lap. Dorothea stealthily began to undress Petra, not wanting to soil her robes too much. Petra wriggled out of all of her clothing until she was bared to Dorothea, then gave her a kiss. Dorothea never minded tasting herself, no matter how shy she was about getting excited.

“Have I convinced you? You’re worthy of me. Worthy of much _better_ than me, even,” Petra said. Dorothea had braided her hair, too, for the wedding, but Petra was undoing the twists and turns with care. 

“There’s nothing better than you, Petra. But...if this is your method of ‘convincing’ me, I might not be completely convinced, yet.”

Obvious flirts often went over Petra’s head, but she caught that one, if her grip on Dorothea’s hips was any indication. “Alright, then. It seems I must get back to work.”

_Prepare yourself for an encore, Dorothea._


End file.
